And the Bruises Bloomed like Flowers
by Mnemosyne's Elegy
Summary: Nagi pushes Kousei a little too far and learns a little more than she wanted to about his own teacher. The bruises on his skin have long since faded, but they linger somewhere on his heart. But he turned them into something beautiful, and for once she can look past his weakness so that she can do the same.


**Note: This...isn't the kind of anime I normally watch. To be honest, I ran across some vague talk of it somewhere and did some research out of boredom, and managed to spoil the ending for myself. And I probably only watched it because of the ending lol I'm a sucker for that stuff.**

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Nagi had not realized what she was getting herself into, or what she would have to endure in order to get revenge on her brother's…enemy? Rival? Hero? Whoever he was. She just wanted to ruin Arima Kousei, but she had no desire to sit here and submit to his criticism.

"And you were lagging at measure thirty-four again," Arima continued, oblivious to her seething. "Your pianissimo is still too loud, and you're still going off pitch around measures twenty-two, forty, and fifty-eight. And–"

"Will you be quiet?" Nagi snapped finally, her hands bunching into fists in her skirts as she glared down at the porcelain keys of the piano. What had she ever done to deserve this pathetic, weak, _infuriating_ boy as a teacher? "You're a horrible teacher! All you ever do is nag! I'm not even learning anything! Why am I even here?"

There was a long silence. Nagi crossed her arms tightly across her chest and glowered at the piano that refused to do her bidding. She had come here to break Arima, not be made to feel inadequate.

"Ah… I apologize." Arima cleared his throat, and Nagi caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of her eye as he lifted a hand to his face. To rub at his nose or readjust his glasses, maybe. She was too stubborn to look. "You're the first person I've really taught, so I'm afraid that I'm learning along with you. I'll try to do better."

Nagi looked over despite herself, taking in his sheepish smile and gentle eyes. How could he always be so calm and gentle and unperturbed, even in the face of her tantrums? Provoking reactions, making him feel awkward or panicked or nervous, had become one of her most entertaining pastimes during their lessons. But still, she couldn't seem to make him angry no matter how much she yelled or how many barbed comments she made.

It was frustrating. But at least such an insipid and weak enemy should be all the easier to destroy.

"It can't be that hard," she told him, her words etched with acid. "Someone had to have taught you. You just do it the same way."

Honestly, how stupid was he?

Arima blinked at her blankly for a long moment and then dropped his gaze to his hands. A strange smile halfway between wistfulness and melancholy tugged at his lips, and his gray eyes took on a faraway look as if they were seeing something other than his hands.

"If I taught you like I had been taught… You would have gotten bruises at measures twenty-two, forty, and fifty-eight for going off pitch; at thirty-four for lagging; at nineteen and twenty-four for your pianissimo; at eight, twenty-six, twenty-eight, thirty-four, and fifty-two for missed notes. And then you would play it all over again until you got it _right_."

Nagi blinked at him once, twice, and her glare faded away of its own volition. It didn't make sense to her how that could happen, and she didn't understand where his mind was now that he was saying it when he normally kept his personal life out of their lessons.

"Your teacher could get away with that?" she blurted out.

He turned his hands over and tilted his head slightly, that rueful smile tugging at one corner of his mouth again. "My mother meant well, I think. She was just a little…intense."

"Your _mother_?" Nagi squeaked. The rising pitch of her voice finally snapped Arima out of whatever trance he'd fallen into, and he looked up in surprise, his eyes focusing on the present again.

"Never mind," he said. "I just meant that it might take me a little while to get used to this whole teaching thing. We'll figure it out together."

Nagi tried to wrap her head around family hurting their own. Her brother would never lift his hand against her like that, even if she sometimes felt like she disappeared in his gaze, like his eyes skimmed right over her like she wasn't there. He still loved her, and he was still her hero. And her mother and father would never strike her either.

"Did you hate her very much?" she asked curiously.

Arima cleared his throat and pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He didn't respond immediately, and his gaze wandered down and to the side again. Then he finally shook his head and looked up with that odd smile of his.

"Of course," he said. "But I loved her too. You can hate and love the same thing, although it can take a long time and a lot of heartache to reconcile that.

"It's like you and the piano. You love it and you want to play, but you hate the stress of the upcoming festival and all the repetitive practice and me pointing out the errors, right? It's okay to feel both. It's just up to you to decide whether you love it enough to keep going through everything else, and if whatever you're playing for is important enough."

Nagi felt a strange expression twist her features. How could he see through her so easily and say such sincere words like they were nothing? How could he see her so clearly when she had so much trouble capturing her own brother's attention?

She swallowed and then rallied, crossing her arms over her chest and sticking her nose in the air. "How cliché."

Arima groaned and passed a hand over his face. "I tried."

Despite herself, Nagi had to bite back a smile.

"Kousei," came a voice from behind them. Nagi turned to see Seto sticking her head out from the doorway to the kitchen. "It's getting late. Why don't you let the poor girl go home?"

Arima looked at the clock. His eyes widened comically and he flushed red.

"Ah! I lost track of time! You're right, Hiroko-san." He gave Nagi an apologetic smile, finally flustered even though she couldn't get a rise out of him before. "You're free to go."

Nagi wanted to go and escape her enemy's presence, but she stayed rooted to the bench. She looked down at her hands, imagining. They were unmarred.

She snuck a look over at Arima's hands. They were pale and unharmed. She wondered if there had ever been a time when they had not been so, or if they had been spared when bruises bloomed like purple storm clouds beneath the rest of his skin.

She could sense the melancholy on him, always lurking beneath his quiet smile and gentle eyes like a half-seen shadow. Even bruises, she realized, could leave scars.

"One more time?" she asked, her voice smaller and more uncertain than it ought to be.

"You don't have to. Tomorrow we can–"

"I said I was going to do it one more time," she snapped, finding her fire again.

Huffing, she leveled one last glare at Arima and set her fingers back on the keys. Her eyes found the sheet music and set her fingers following the notes. The sound rang out clear and true, and she could already tell that something was different as she played the piece yet again.

She saw the trouble spots coming up in the score, duly warned by Arima even if she resented the nagging. And despite her complaining, her playing was so much better than it had been only a couple weeks before. Maybe, just maybe, it would soon be good enough to reach Takeshi.

"I didn't mean it," she said halfway through, her soft voice almost lost among the notes of the piano.

But of course he heard her. "Mean what?"

He was the enemy, he was naïve and something of a wuss, she was supposed to be destroying him.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed his pale, uninjured hands tapping out the notes in the air as if he was playing the piece alongside her. He held his own sorrow under his skin, but if he could turn it into something beautiful then surely Nagi could do the same.

"That you aren't a good teacher. You've been very patient with me, and I can feel how much I've improved. Thank you, Arima-sensei."

She could almost feel his confusion.

"Uh… No problem? You _have_ been improving a lot. I'm proud to see you growing."

So she _was_ getting better. Her heart warmed at his praise.

Oh no, she was going soft! Getting so starry-eyed over his approval. Unacceptable.

"How cliché," she said with a humph.

He groaned from beside her, and she had to fight back another smile.

He had turned his pain into beauty, and she wanted to do the same with every one of her problems. They would take the bruises that bloomed like flowers on their hearts and turn them into music, and, for the first time, she didn't mind if they did it together.


End file.
